Daughter of Independence

by Simon Brown

  With heavy hearts, those remaining watched the lucky ten ride off.

  Quickly Mikhel, the commander told himself, get them working.

  ‘Right. This rise is as good a place as any to make a camp. I want a palisade. And I want a ditch around that.’

  ‘That won’t stop them,’ one soldier said. ‘We all saw what they could do.’

  ‘Then you also saw what happened when someone used a firegon,’ Mikhel returned.

  ‘Yeah, nothing at all! The balls went through ’em!’

  ‘But they ran away from the flash, remember? And now that it is morning, where are they? They are afraid of the light! They are afraid of fire!’

  Some among his men murmured agreement.

  ‘The worst thing we can do is give up, just run away! Now we know what to do, we can prepare.’ He immediately organised some to cut down trees, some to start digging the ditch and others to gather as much kindling as possible. As important as keeping his men busy was keeping himself occupied. He did not want to think about what he had seen during the night.

  His left hand, resting on the hilt of his sword, started shaking, making the hilt rattle against the sheath. He bunched the hand into a fist and held it against his stomach. Think of something else, he told himself. But nothing else would come to mind.

  *

  ‘Well, what do we do with them now?’ Galys asked.

  She was standing on the Long Bridge looking down onto the Saddle. Below, in the middle of a field of wheat, was a temporary pen filled with the officers and sailors taken off the surviving Hamilayan ships. The prisoners sat in the dirt, disconsolate and frightened, officers at one end and sailors at the other. In between, apparently ostracised, sat Admiral Agwyer.

  Beside Galys stood Poloma, holding Sookie’s hand, and next to him Heriot carrying Berrat. Beyond Heriot stood Kadburn, looking as frightening and dark as Poloma had ever seen him.

  The prefect sighed. His elation at yesterday’s victory was being slowly eroded by the full import of what the attack meant for Kydan, not to mention the problem of what to do with the sheer number of prisoners. He said as much.

  ‘Slay them,’ Kadburn said sharply. ‘They fired on us without a declaration of hostility. They destroyed most of the foundry, killing over sixty workers.’

  ‘No,’ Poloma said flatly.

  ‘They made war on us,’ Heriot said. ‘I agree with Kadburn.’

  Poloma glanced at her in surprise, then saw how tightly she hugged Berrat to her. In that moment, realising that if the attack had started earlier in the day they might have lost their children or each other, he felt his own anger rise in him. Why not kill them? he asked himself.

  ‘But we are Kydan, not Hamilayan,’ he answered aloud.

  ‘What are we going to do with them, then?’ Galys repeated. ‘We don’t have a jail big enough to hold this many prisoners, and we don’t have the resources to feed them, to guard them, to tend them when they’re ill.’

  ‘Kill them,’ Heriot urged again. ‘Finish it.’

  ‘I have a better idea,’ said a new voice. All turned to see Kysor Nevri approach. Half his face was smeared with a dark ointment, most of his hair was burned away, and his hands were wrapped in bandages. The others were horrified by the extent of his injuries. His eyes fixed on Heriot. ‘You showed great mercy once, to one who was your enemy.’

  Heriot could not meet his gaze.

  ‘I agree with Heriot,’ Kadburn said,

  ‘We are beyond revenge, I think,’ Galys said solemnly.

  ‘I did not say anything about revenge!’

  ‘I hear it in your voice,’ Kysor said. ‘You are angry. You want the enemy to be punished.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Kadburn replied, but he too looked away from Kysor. ‘Why shouldn’t all of us? We can’t let them go!’

  ‘Why can’t we let them go?’ Kysor asked.

  ‘What? And have them attack us again?’

  ‘With what? They are sailors. Their ships are sunk or in our hands. And where can they go? How long would a band of foreigners who do not speak Kydan last in the wilderness? They would be massacred.’

  ‘Ah, you are suggesting we chase them out into the countryside to be picked off by villagers and trappers and –’

  ‘No, Warden. Nothing of the kind. I am suggesting they work for us.’

  ‘You mean slaves?’ Galys said, astounded.

  Kysor shook his head. ‘Consider the facts. One, we don’t have the wherewithal to look after them as prisoners. Two, most of them are innocent of any crime except belonging to the Hamilayan navy, so killing them out of hand would be barbaric. Three, exiling them into the hinterland would be as good as killing them. Four, they are harmless since they have no weapons, they are demoralised, they are not organised to fight on land and they have no way of getting home. Five, we need labourers to replace those killed in the foundry, initially to help rebuild it, and then to work in it, and we need labourers in the new farms and mines.’

  Poloma wanted to shake Kysor’s hand, then remembered the bandages. Instead he settled for saying, ‘This is well spoken indeed.’

  ‘What we should do,’ Kysor continued, ‘is plan to make them new Kydans.’

  Heriot and Kadburn turned to glare at Kysor. Then, surprising herself, Heriot smiled. ‘Not so daft a plan, maybe.’

  Kadburn only grunted, but made no more objection. He looked back down at the prisoners as if he might slay them just by thinking about it. After a moment, he said, ‘Who’s the one in the middle that no one wants to talk to?’

  ‘Avier told me his name is Admiral Agwyer,’ Calys said. ‘Apparently he killed the captain of Hetha, who would not surrender.’

  Kadburn scowled. ‘A coward, then. And no doubt it was this man who ordered the attack on Kydan.’

  ‘Lerena ordered the attack on Kydan,’ Poloma corrected. ‘At least, he said General Second Prince Rodin Kevleren ordered the attack and he therefore assumed the instructions came from Lerena.’

  ‘As well as an attack on shipping in these waters,’ Galys added.

  ‘He could have refused them,’ Kadburn pointed out.

  Poloma sighed. ‘In this case I agree with Kadburn. He personally ordered the assault on Kydan, and gave the order for the attack on several traders south of here, many of which were sunk. He must bear immediate responsibility for the destruction.’

  ‘You will order his execution?’ Galys asked.

  ‘I don’t know what I am going to do about him,’ Poloma admitted. ‘I do not wish to order anyone’s execution. But I cannot let him get away with his crimes.’

  ‘There is another problem as well,’ Galys said. ‘The enemy ships. There are four of them and according to Avier three of them can go to sea with only minor repairs. What do we do with them?’

  *

  ‘You love him more than you love me,’ Ames Westaway said.

  Canna leaned over the saddle to pat Old Boot’s neck. ‘That isn’t true, is it my faithful steed? You pretty thing.’

  Ames snorted. ‘He is an old hack. He is the most swaybacked horse in the history of the dragoons. He is ugly. He farts a lot. He eats too much food.’

  ‘You should not talk about yourself like that,’ Canna said. ‘Be proud, like Old Boot.’

  ‘Is there anything at all you prefer about me compared with him?’

  Canna thought about it for a long while. ‘Although I think he speaks our language better than you, you have a nicer accent.’

  They reined in at the northern limits of their home range and looked back towards the city. From here all they could see was the Citadel. Less than a longmile away a mob of horses was being watched over by ten cadet dragoons, the second batch from old Kydan families, seconded by Gos Linsedd to work with Ames so they could learn about horses as they learned to ride as easily and naturally as they walked.

  Ames pointed to the mob and said with satisfaction, ‘Two years old, Canna, and broken in. Another year and we’ll sell them to the
army. Then we can pay off your parents and all their friends.’

  ‘We could sell them off now,’ Canna pointed out. ‘As you say, they are broken in.’

  ‘Cavalry horses need more muscle and bone. If you just wanted a fancy riding pony, you could take one of them now, but not for heavy riding. A few more months on this grass, and with the exercise we’ll give them, they’ll be perfect.’

  ‘Do we have another year?’ Canna asked, her face darkening.

  ‘Plenty of time. Even if Lerena decided to invade, it would take her a year or more to get an expedition together. It took almost a year to get the expedition together that I came across with. I think we have enough time.’ Ames kneed his horse closer to Old Boot, leaned across and patted Carina’s swelling belly. ‘Plenty of time for a lot of things.’

  ‘Twenty extra riders and a few more horses won’t stop an invasion, will they?’ Canna said.

  ‘They will help,’ Ames replied. ‘Remember, an invasion force needs to win from the very start; it has nowhere to retreat to, no way to resupply itself, no reserves. If it can be stopped as soon as it lands, it can be beaten. The dragoons can help do that.’

  Canna covered his hand with her own. ‘Gos will ask you to ride with them again, won’t he?’

  ‘You know he will. That was the deal. He let me go because he knew I would come back if he needed me.’

  ‘He let you go because he knew he would need more riders and horses.’

  ‘That isn’t fair, Canna. We have what we want. A future. If I have to fight to protect that future, I won’t hesitate.’

  ‘I want my future to include you. Our child will want it to include you. By Frey and Kydan, Ames, even my father would want the future to include you.’

  Ames grinned sheepishly. He had hoped when he met Canna that one day he would be important to her, but to realise it had happened was still slightly unreal to him. The fact that his atrocious Kydan accent was a constant source of tension between Ames and his father-in-law was more a source of amusement for him than annoyance.

  He turned his attention back to the mob and the riders. The native Kydans were riding as if they were nailed to the saddles. They were naturals, and took every opportunity they could to ride the range. Even Canna had eventually come around to it, although she would never be as comfortable on a horse as Ames. Old Boot took care of her, though.

  ‘I think we can plant more barley this year. The paddock east of the house has been well treated.’

  ‘Is that what you call it?’ Canna said. ‘I had no idea horses pooped so much.’

  *

  It was getting hard to find the empress outside her own domain. Occasionally, very occasionally, she would make an appearance in the alcazar attached to the aviary, propping herself up in a large chair in one of the rooms that had belonged to her sister’s chambers. But such audiences, always rare, were increasingly so, and Chancellor Malus Mycom found himself once every tenday, sometimes twice, preparing himself for the ordeal of the aviary itself, summoned there by the empress. The ordeal started as soon as one entered through the solitary entrance halfway up the aviary’s glass dome. There were no guards anymore, except one outside the door itself, no servants or Axkevlerens. Just the strange green world that somehow seemed to extend beyond the confines of the aviary’s architecture, as if the dome itself, and all life outside of it, was nothing more than an illusion. In a puzzling way, Mycom felt as if Lerena’s creation was the original, the right one, and that the world he had grown up in was only a shadow.

  Once through the entrance, he had to carefully make his way down the spiral staircase that led to ground level, and which these days was covered in a slimy film of moss and algae, while his lungs adapted to the increasingly humid, hot and dense air. Then, finally at the bottom, he had to wait a long moment for his eyes to adjust to the green light, almost opaque at its thickest under the forest that now occupied most of the aviary. Once, the place had been alive with birds of every colour, every size and every shape. Now the birds were never seen, at least not by Mycom, but only heard. Their calls haunted the forest, trills and songs and cries that almost sounded as if they had come from human throats. Now and then Mycom would hear the beating of wings, the rustling of undergrowth, or find a feather on the trails that wound between boles of huge trees and stands of bamboo. At last, and Mycom never knew how long it took him for time did not exist under the dome as it existed outside it, he would reach the clearing. There was only one now, in the middle of the forest, and in the clearing was a single stone bench, plain and undecorated, slab-like and slightly warm as if someone had just been sitting on it. He would always sit in exactly the same spot on one end of the bench, and wait for the empress to appear.

  Disturbingly she would sometimes just appear when only a moment before she was nowhere to be seen. At other times he would hear her coming through the forest, forcing her way through the undergrowth and then suddenly bursting into the clearing as if she was on the hunt and Mycom was her prey. He trained himself to sit still and not to jump, partly because he thought it important the empress saw he was willing to serve her unflinchingly, but also partly because he was genuinely afraid that if he moved the hunt would become real and she would leap on him and tear out his throat.

  But then she sat down next to him and it was the Empress Lerena Kevleren of old, slightly round, still slightly girlish, but pretty in her own way and possessing a surprisingly deep and subtly hypnotic voice. They would discuss business as normal, make plans, do away with old plans, go over accounts and reports from her far-flung empire. Then at some point she would fall silent and sit as still as an owl looking for mice. She might sit like this for some time, and then renew the conversation where it had left off or get to her feet and disappear back into the forest.

  Twice, the empress did not turn up at the clearing for a very long time, and he had had to wait for her, although hungry, tired and desperate to leave the world she had made for herself.

  And when it was all over, when he was dismissed or the empress simply left him, he had to make his way back to the outside, unescorted, wary and, he thought, constantly watched. Sometimes as he was leaving, the next sacrifice was being led in. Mycom avoided looking at whoever it was; there was nothing he could do to help. The empress had her needs and they must be met. The guards taking the sacrifice would push the victim through the door to the aviary and close it behind. No one knew what happened after that. There was never a scream, never a body to remove afterwards, no blood or bones or remains of any kind, no smell, no hint. Just another of Lerena’s children led into that other world and never, ever seen again.

  On this occasion, his second visit in five days, Lerena was agitated. It was not obvious at first while they were discussing finances for the upkeep of Omeralt, but as their discussion continued Mycom noticed she glanced nervously at some point in the distance, although all Mycom himself could see were trees. A bird, a raven he thought, sounded from somewhere behind the tangle, although in a way it sounded like the memory of a bird rather than the real thing, as if he had heard it in a dream.

  ‘Is everything all right, your Majesty?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said quickly, then immediately added, ‘No. Not really. It’s that corner above Koegrah. Something is wrong but I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s like an itch that can’t be scratched.’

  ‘His Highness Prince Rodin has not heard from the officer he sent north to investigate?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He may not have found anything,’ Mycom said reasonably.

  ‘Yes.’ She tapped a tooth with one finger. Click. ‘That is true.’ Click. ‘But the officer will find something. Or something will find him.’

  Mycom did not know what to say. Despite the warmth inside the aviary, he felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

  ‘Well, we can wait,’ Lerena said. ‘For a little while.’

  *

  Admiral Erom Agwyer did not feel much like an admiral. H
e did not much feel like an officer. He was finding it difficult to even feel human. No one would talk to him; no one would even approach him. He had tried to start a conversation by ordering some of the sailors to report to him about their condition, but they had pointedly ignored him, and when he had complained to some of the other officers about this behaviour, they had ignored him as well.

  They had all seemed happy enough with him when he killed Captain Oble and surrendered the fleet, or what was left of it, but now that the deed was done and they were all safe they had rediscovered their honour. Agwyer, although foolish and cowardly, was not stupid and he understood that all he served to do was remind his fellow Hamilayans of their own disgrace.

  When night fell, therefore, he prepared himself as best he could. He sat cross-legged, back straight, his uniform as neat as he could make it, and when he heard the patter of footsteps behind him he refused to look over his shoulder, even when the footsteps stopped and he knew if he confronted whoever it was they would retreat as all cowards did in the end. But Agwyer had come to an understanding with his own conscience, and knew that on the morrow the Kydans would put him on trial for his attack on the coastal traders and on the city. He would rather get it over and done with and avoid any further humiliation.

  He shivered once when the small blade first touched the skin on his neck, and involuntarily gasped when it snickered across his throat. After that he was swallowed by death and did not care anymore.

  *

  Poloma woke because Heriot was not beside him. He listened to the night for a long time and did not hear her. Despite a conscious effort to avoid or defer it, he remembered how quiet the house had been after the death of his mother, and knew now he would not go back to sleep. He got out of bed, dressed clumsily, and went first to the children’s room. Both Berrat and Sookie were sleeping soundly. He crept in and kissed each of them on their round cheeks. One of Sookie’s arms curled around his neck. He gave her an extra kiss and carefully untangled himself. He went to the kitchen. Then to the main room off the entrance hall. Heriot was sitting there, staring far away. She saw him and half smiled.